


Bifurcated

by Squintern



Series: Bifurcated [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I just need to make that clear, I promise, M/M, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, no beta we don't die, the happy ending is guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squintern/pseuds/Squintern
Summary: Because Nicky is healing and Joe is not.--Or, six immortals have even more questions when something resets.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Quynh | Noriko
Series: Bifurcated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079777
Comments: 84
Kudos: 266





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So like, sorry but not sorry? I wrote the first three chapters of this while I was half asleep, rolled out of bed the minute I was conscious and typed it up, and then it was so good I had to keep going.

It is a bloody, awful mess of a fight. There’s hardly any light and they lose each other easily in the dark. The room is large and more than once Nicky has had to pull back before putting a bullet in Nile, or Andy, or Quynh. He can feel Joe’s presence like a brand, his body thrumming in harmony, but he doesn’t think about it when Joe goes down.

“Everybody still with me?” The same call as always when it is done, and four voices answer. Only four.

Their flashlights flick on and illuminate the room. Joe isn’t far. He’s bleeding still, a puddle of it seeping out from under his body. Nicky doesn’t even realize his knees have given out until he feels Booker’s arm loop across his chest, tight like a band of iron. Booker lowers them both down and Nicky drags himself to Joe ( _ Joe’s body _ ). The knees of his pants are soaked in seconds and Nicky can’t bring himself to admit what’s made them wet. Andy is in front of him, her hands in his hair, forcing him to look at her. There’s a low keening noise and it takes Nicky a long time to realize it’s him.

The bullet in his shoulder clatters to the floor and his keening raises in pitch. He’s still healing. He’s healing and Joe is not. Joe is still lying on the floor, his eyes open and staring at nothing. His wounds aren’t closing, and the blood just keeps coming,  _ keeps coming _ . Nicky is healing and Joe is not.

“Nicky, look at me. Nicky,  _ Nicky _ , look at me,” Andy is saying, is  _ pleading _ , and Nicky is looking at her but he can’t see anything except Joe’s eyes open and staring at nothing.

“Clear the rest of the compound,” Andy says. Booker withdraws and then Quynh is there, arms around his waist and her face tucked into his neck.

“Nicky we gotta go,” Andy says to him. Her hands are still on his face, she won’t let him turn to look. Nicky scrapes at her fingers but she doesn’t let go. “We gotta go, now.” Her voice is hoarse and urgent and the rational part of Nicky’s brain knows she’s right, but every fiber of his being is still straining toward Joe on the floor. Toward Joe’s body on the floor. Because Nicky is healing and Joe is not.

He’s dimly aware that he’s stopped making noise, he’s managed to cut off whatever horrible sound was being torn from his throat. He can feel Quynh and Andy pulling him up. He knows when Booker and Nile return because Booker takes over without a word, more able to heft Nicky’s frame. Andy takes the lead but Nile is there in her place, walking backward, trusting Booker to guide her if she’s going to hit something. She keeps her hands on his face and Nicky can see she’s crying. But she won’t let him look. None of them let him look.

He will be angry, later, he thinks. When he can, when he has the energy, he will rage and scream and tear their world apart for leaving Joe ( _ Joe’s body _ ) in this place to be taken with the rest of them. But they will still stay with him. They will perform this sick ritual, keep him facing forward and moving even as he fights them. And he will keep facing forward, he will keep moving, because Joe would never forgive him if he tried to follow. And besides, he can’t. Because Nicky is still healing ( _ and Joe is not _ ).

He is cold and numb the entire trip back. He drifts in and out, he must, because he doesn’t remember getting on the helicopter and he doesn’t remember arriving at the safe house. He looks immediately for Joe, forgetting for just a moment that he’s not there. (That Nicky healed and Joe did not and this was the end and he didn’t even have time to prepare.) Nile’s got her hands on his face again before he can fully turn his head, though. Her eyes are still red-rimmed and Nicky wants to reach out, wants to offer her some sort of comfort because she’s lost her birth family but this is the first time she’s lost one of them and it’s  _ different _ . It’s different when they’re supposed to live for so much longer and it’s cruel that she got so little time with Joe. Joe, who held her through the nightmares and coaxed her to sleep against him in long car rides and spoke endlessly about art and history with her and taught her to draw when she asked and gave her watercolors when she showed a proficiency and loved her,  _ loved  _ her, loved her so very deeply. But he can’t do that. He can’t make himself do anything right now (and Nile knows this).

“Quynh is going to turn on the shower,” Nile says softly. “You need to clean up.” Booker is still holding him up and they move together to the bathroom. Nicky is vaguely aware of Andy already sitting at the kitchen table, a drink in her hand.

Quynh takes over on her own. Booker and Nile leave him in her hands at the bathroom door and Nicky can stand on his own again though he’s not sure how. She guides him in and begins to remove his gear. She lays his sword gently on the counter and Nicky can see Joe’s laid out beside it. He lets out a small, hurt sound and Quynh catches him before he falls again.

“I thought you might want it,” she says. “I can take it away.” Nicky shakes his head desperately and she soothes him, stroking a hand over his hair. “Okay, okay. I will leave it here. We can clean it together.” Nicky’s breathing slows again as she speaks, he hadn’t realized it had sped at all.

Their swords have been with them since the beginning. They have had them reforged, repaired, releathered, but the bones have always been the same. At its core, that is the first weapon Joe ever used to strike him down and Nicky will never let it go. Not when he can remember the feel of the blade between his ribs, across his neck, in his gut, and under his hands that last time, as Joe offered it to him to show that he was done with the killing. Quynh was right to take it and Nicky is more glad than ever that they have her back. She touches his cheek as he’s thinking this and her fingers come away dry. This only has her face twisting more grimly, but she doesn’t comment.

“Can you stand?” she asks instead. Nicky makes his legs work. He is so heavy, everything is so heavy. She helps him strip and gets him under the spray of the shower. He can hardly do more than rub his hands through his own hair. He hears her speaking to someone at the door, but he tunes it out. The shower rushes down around him and he focuses on that to drown out his own thoughts. (He feels the ghost of Joe’s fingers in his hair and he reaches up to grab at them. Of course there is nothing.)

He gets out eventually. Quynh is still there, holding a towel. She helps him dry and together they get him into fresh clothes. His tac vest and guns are gone, but the swords still lie on the counter. Quynh waits while Nicky decides which one to take. He wraps his hand reverently around Joe’s and she takes up his own and they leave together. They stop in the hallway, Quynh waiting him out again.

“Andy has left out the cleaning kit,” she offers, “or you may want to sleep.” Nicky’s grip tightens on Joe’s scimitar. He turns toward their ( _ his _ ) bedroom. Quynh follows.

They lay the swords on the rickety desk in the corner. Nicky doesn’t let himself linger there. He knows the drawers are full of old drawings, charcoal stubs, and books with faded lettering and missing pages that Joe doesn’t need because he’s memorized every poem but keeps anyway to pull out when he’s feeling particularly strongly about the lack of proper Arabic calligraphy being taught these days. ( _ Didn’t _ need,  _ had  _ memorized,  _ kept _ anyway. What will Nicky do with them now?) He falls on the bed and hates how cold it is. Even when he went to bed before Joe, he was warm enough with the knowledge that Joe would join him at some point. Now, their twin bed, barely big enough for two grown men but all that would fit in the room at this particular safe house, is too large. Quynh perches on the edge and pushes some hair off his forehead. She has always been more suited to comfort than Andy and Nicky can only be fiercely grateful that this happened now. There are very few he has ever been this raw with; one is Joe, one is Quynh, one was his mother, and one was his God. (One  _ was _ Joe.)

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she murmurs. Nicky doesn’t say he’s not sure he can sleep properly. Quynh runs her fingers through his hair again and something in Nicky shuts off.


	2. Chapter 2

Joe wakes up.

His body hurts, everywhere. He is stiff and his head is spinning from blood loss. He doesn’t know why it’s taken so long, and it  _ has _ taken long. He knows it has because he is alone.

There is light filtering into the room from somewhere. He can’t lift his head yet, his neck still stiff and dizziness sweeping him even at the single twitch of his toes. He knows he is alone, though. There’s not another body breathing in this room except him. It’s empty in that echoing way that seems horribly loud.

The first time he tries to speak, nothing comes out. His throat is dry, clicking on the syllables, unable to make a sound. He swallows and swallows and by the time he thinks he can speak, he knows already no one will answer. He does anyway.

“Nicolò.” And again, louder because he can, “Nicolò.” It still hurts to hear nothing in return.

He is alone without Nicky. It has been very long if Nicky is not at his side.

For a moment, he wonders if Nicky is one of the bodies around him. But the thought is gone almost as soon as it comes because his whole body is thrumming. He knows Nicky is still alive, can  _ feel  _ it to his very bones. His body is thrumming, every cell, every  _ molecule _ thrumming with Nicky’s life. And it is this that finally gets him up. He needs to find Nicky.

He knows why they left him. The fight wasn’t supposed to go this way, there wasn’t supposed to be another team, they weren’t supposed to be overwhelmed. Their quiet entrance hadn’t stayed so quiet and undoubtedly an SOS had gone out. If they had stayed like they planned, they would’ve only met another army. He knows they had to leave. They had to leave quickly, and they had to leave him. He doesn’t want to think about how they got Nicky out.

For now, he focuses on getting up. His head still swims, but he’s begun to shake off the rigor mortis (and he is almost relieved to have the bile rise in his throat at the thought, his body is working properly then). He doesn’t know why it’s taken  _ so long _ . He doesn’t know why he was most certainly dead, and for a very long time, and why he’s up again now. It doesn’t matter why. What matters is getting to Nicky.

There is still silence around him, but he takes what weapons he can. His own scimitar is gone, he has to assume it’s safe with Nicky. If they could take anything it would be that blade that first touched Nicky’s heart, before anything of Joe’s voice or hands could. He finds a mostly full pistol and a couple magazines that he tucks into his own tac vest. There’s a knife on the floor not far away, something Joe recognizes from Quynh’s arsenal and he takes that too. He moves quietly, sticking to the walls and checking around corners as he moves into the compound proper. He is all too aware that he looks like the men they bled out and depending on who finds them first, he won’t even have a chance to try to explain.

He wants to leave right now. He wants to trust that he’ll find Nicky on the thrumming of his presence alone, but he knows that’s stupid. And he knows Nicky won’t forgive him if he dies in the desert from his own rash decisions. He needs food and he needs water and, ideally, he needs a phone. (If he can just call them, tell them he’s coming.) So he moves through the compound, the sun already blazing hot, keeping to the shadows for relief as much as safety.

He finds the mess hall first. It’s well stocked, non perishables lining the shelves and a fridge that’s still running on a beat up generator. Under a cloth in the corner are cases of bottled water, shielded from the light and dust. Joe breaks one open and drains it in a matter of seconds. The second he sips more slowly. He forces himself to look for food. He knows he needs to be prepared to make this journey, knows he needs his strength. It feels like forever, but his best chances of reaching Nicky require him to take this time. So he forces himself to eat, to sit and rest and let his body recuperate fully. He finishes the second water bottle and two cans of food he doesn’t even taste. The dizziness is receding. He knows he shouldn’t, but he presses the blade of Quynh’s dagger against the pad of his finger. Blood wells up, but when he wipes it away there’s no trace of a cut.

His relief nearly drowns him for a moment.

He takes as many water bottles as he can carry, tucking them into pockets and empty spaces on his vest. It doesn’t feel like enough, not if he can’t find a phone and call them. Not if he needs to make the journey on foot. But he takes what he can and knows he’ll wake again if he dies. (He pointedly doesn’t think about how long it might take, how this might’ve been a warning sign, how a cut on his finger is nothing compared to his body shutting down one organ at a time.) Judging by the heat of the day and the height of the sun, it must be nearing midday. He doesn’t relish the thought of traveling by night, but his best chances are to walk when it’s colder rather than when it’s hotter.

Their communications room is the last one he checks. The door is ajar and Joe has his gun out before he pushes it open. There’s a much newer, nicer generator in the corner, but it’s sending power to nothing. Every screen has been shot or smashed, broken from the computers that lay in pieces on the floor. There’s a drum in the center of the room with still-smoldering remains of papers and maps leaking smoke toward the ceiling. There’s no sat phone. Joe gives into his frustration for a moment, viciously kicking a broken laptop across the room. He was expecting the worst, but he didn’t want to believe it. He takes a breath. And another. The least he could do is find a compass.

His luck is not completely out. He finds a satellite GPS that still has power and was missed in the final sweep. The screen is cracked and the read-out flickers, but he can read his own coordinates just fine. He programs in the coordinates to their safe house, because even if they’ve cleared out already it’s a starting point and he can gather more supplies. They make sure to leave one sat phone in each safe house, too. He can find a way to contact them. It’s a long journey, but Nicky’s pulse is calling out to him at the end of it.


	3. Chapter 3

Nicky isn’t sure when he truly falls asleep but he must. He wakes up cold and alone. There is someone in the room but he can’t bring himself to even raise his head. He opens an eye, though. Quynh is packing his belongings. She doesn’t look at him. Nicky doesn’t ask for her attention, just rolls back over and tries to sleep again.

When he wakes a second time, it is different. His body feels warm like it hadn’t before. He registers that he is still cold without the heat of another body in the bed, but he  _ feels _ warm. He feels alive. He sits up before he even makes a conscious decision to move. Nile is sitting beside his bed and Nicky barely spares a moment to wonder if they’ve been taking shifts. His body is thrumming, every cell, every  _ molecule _ thrumming and he knows. He  _ knows _ . 

“Joe is alive.” His voice is hoarse and sticking on the words, he hasn’t spoken since they dragged him out. He repeats it, clearer, stronger. “Joe is alive.”

He feels the truth as soon as the words leave his lips. He knows. He can sense the concern in Nile’s eyes as she watches him. He pushes up, though, goes to the bag Quynh had packed and starts pulling out fresh clothes.

“Nicky,” she says slowly. Nicky doesn’t want to snap at her, can’t. Not when he ( _ he and Joe _ ) was the one to hold her as she shook through her own denial when her family finally passed. Well and truly passed.

“Nile.” He still grinds it out, harsher than he intended. He turns to her, clasps her shoulder. He doesn’t hold tightly enough to bruise, but it’s a close thing. “Joe is alive.” And he can feel it. He can  _ feel  _ it.

“Joe is alive and I am going to him.” He turns back, starting to change, heedless of Nile still in the room. He hears her leave after a moment.

Quynh and Andy both come in not a minute later. Nicky is already preparing his tac vest.

“Nico-”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Nicky says sharply before she gets out the final syllable. He knows it is unfair, that she knew him best by his given name, but there is a power in that name. There is a power that only Joe can raise, and he will not let anyone utter it until Joe has called him back from this abyss. There is no room for him to feel apologetic.

“Nicky,” Quynh tries again. Nicky turns on her, gripping her arms, this time tight enough that he can see the color rising on her skin, but he doesn’t let up.

“Tell me you couldn’t feel it,” he says urgently. “Tell me, every second you were down there, tell me you couldn’t feel that Andy was here, Andy was  _ alive _ .” She looks into his eyes and he can see he’s right.

“Nicky, he’s dead,” Andy says, voice hard and unforgiving.

“Dead like you thought Quynh was dead?” he asks before he can stop himself. It is so unfair, mean in a way he’d forgotten he can be, especially with Quynh standing at her side. “Dead like  _ you _ were supposed to be?” He jabs a finger into her side, where the scar her body has adopted lives on her skin. (Where, no matter how many times she is slashed or shot or stabbed, it still heals as scar tissue.) Andy stiffens further, her jaw tight.

“We need to leave,” she says.

“I’m going to find Joe,” Nicky says. And he will break her trust if she gives him an order now, he will disobey for the first time since meeting her and he won’t feel anything. She knows this. She doesn’t give one. Nicky grabs the two canteens he carries and goes out into the kitchen to fill them.

Nile and Booker are standing around the table. They watch warily as he moves past them. Neither says a word, but he knows they’re watching each other as much as they’re watching him. Booker and Nile look over as Andy and Quynh walk out of his room, but Nicky just focuses on screwing the canteens closed.

“I’m going with Nicky,” Quynh announces and Nicky didn’t know he was scared to go alone until relief floods him. He looks now.

Andy is still stone-faced. She has made up her mind and will not be swayed. Nicky isn’t angry with her, he hasn’t the time to be. He can see in her eyes that this decision is not made lightly. He can see how she wants to believe him, wants to trust the way Quynh is doing.

“We’re moving out as planned,” she says. “Nicky and Quynh will be in contact regularly with updates.” To tell us when they find Joe, she doesn’t say. To tell us when they confirm he’s gone, she doesn’t say. Nicky is already moving back to his bedroom.

He is stopped, steps away, by the arms that wrap around his waist. Nile holds on, burying her face in his shoulder blade, and the part of Nicky’s heart that is reserved for his family -- the part that does not belong completely to Joe, though Joe is his family and will always inexorably own every part of his heart -- swells in his chest. He turns in the circle of her arms, his hands still full with the canteens, and he pulls her close. Nicky is not tactile by nature, has never been good at the casual touches (has never been the one who smoothed her baby hairs against her temple when she was exhausted, never been the one who held her arm when they walked together, never been the one to press a hand against her throat where it had first been cut when she woke with a nightmare) but he can do this. He holds her tightly and presses his nose into her hair. He is the first to let go, and she lets him.

Booker is in his room. Nicky doesn’t know when he slipped away, but he’s packing food into Nicky’s backpack and there are full magazines lined up on the bed. He takes the canteens from Nicky without a word and fits them into place.

“I would go with you,” he begins, but Nicky stops him with a shake of his head. He knows. Like his heart beats for Joe and Quynh’s beats for Andy, Booker’s heart beats for the young girl he loves like the daughter he never had. Where he once clung to his grief, clung to Andy and her grief, Booker now clings to Nile. And Nile is a good soldier, Nile knows when to follow orders and when not to, and if she is going with Andy then Booker is going with Andy.

Booker stands and takes up Nicky’s sword. It needs a proper cleaning, a proper sharpening and oiling, but Nicky can’t spend that sort of time. Nicky lets Booker strap it around his hips because Booker is not tactile anymore either. Because Booker cannot give his touch freely except to the girl in the kitchen whom he loves like a daughter, but he can do this. So Nicky lets him attach his weapons, lets him help Nicky into the tac vest, weighted and heavy with the care of Booker’s munitions stock. When he’s outfitted, he reaches up and clasps the back of Booker’s neck because he was never the one to hold Booker through his first breakdowns, was never the one to offer a hand when Booker couldn’t bring himself to stand, was never the one to offer warmth when all Booker could feel was the bone-deep memory of cold, but he can do  _ this _ .

“Find him, Nicky,” Booker whispers and Nicky cannot help himself as he drags Booker’s head down and presses a kiss to his brow.

“Go help Quynh,” he says, releasing his brother. Booker holds out the backpack and Nicky takes it, then he’s gone to help Quynh prepare as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Joe spends the rest of the day raiding the compound. He finds a sturdy bag in one of the buildings and packs food and more water. He steals clean clothes off the bodies they left with a single shot to the head. He tucks extra layers in his bag and scores big when he finds the weapons cache they’d been moving hadn’t been cleared like the communications room. He exchanges what he has and tucks extra knives wherever they fit, stocks up on the ammunition he might need. He hopes not to come across the army he’s preparing for, but better safe than sorry.

One of the guards he stripped was wearing a watch. It’s not yet 2:00 by the time he’s prepared to leave, but he knows he has to wait until after 4:00 unless he’s willing to die again on his way out. He needs to put distance between himself and the compound and he’ll move the fastest when it’s cooler. (He’s  _ less likely to die _ when it’s cooler.) He sits, to rest even a little, but he can’t stay still. Every fiber of his being is straining to reach Nicky.

He tries to sleep, dozes for maybe a moment or two, but can’t truly rest. Even as it eats away at his energy, he keeps collecting supplies. He does everything he can to maximize his chances, either of making it to any civilization before his body gives up entirely (it is not his time, it is  _ not _ his time) or being spotted by someone flying over (let it be Nicky, let it be his family). He made sure to choose clothes in the brightest colors, though their victims weren’t exactly big on bright colors. Anything to contrast the desert sand is fair game. He manages to even find sunglasses. He wastes at least a half hour finding a guard with his shoe size and relatively undamaged footwear. The sun slowly crawls lower in the sky.

He starts out just before 4:00. He can’t wait any longer. He forces himself to move slowly, walking straight away from the compound. He leaves the way they came in and moves out toward their drop point. It’s excruciatingly hot and he conserves water as much as he can while still staying hydrated. If he remembers clearly, he should be able to reach their drop point before dawn. He consults the GPS only once, to ensure he’s still moving in the right direction, but he needs to conserve battery on that as well.

He tries to focus only on putting one foot in front of the other. He has so rarely been without Nicky, he’s off kilter. Every time before now, he has known where Nicky was and Nicky has known where he was. Now, though, now he can hardly bear the thought. Nicky saw him dead. Nicky had to leave him as just another body to be carted away and buried somewhere with every other body in that compound. And that hurts more than his own pain, that Nicky is out there now with only the certain knowledge that Joe  _ didn’t _ wake up. He can’t linger on the thought. So he puts one foot in front of the other and he keeps his head down and walks on.

The dark descends quickly and the chill sets in before he’s ready. He stops only long enough to pull on another layer. But with the cold, he can push himself. He walks faster both to keep warm and eat up the miles he lost waiting for the sun to go down. He checks the GPS again. In the distance, the compound has disappeared from sight. It still feels too close, though, and he wants to move faster, get far enough to get over the next dune and lose those last shreds of light still pin-pricking the darkness, but he won’t risk the extra exertion.

His energy flags at 11:00, body still not fully recovered from the trauma. One moment he’s alert and moving and the next he’s on his knees in the sand. He falls to the side, splays out and stares up at the stars. He hasn’t seen them like this in a very long time, the sky in so many cities drown out by light pollution. He remembers the last time he lay under such an expanse of sky, lit by only the moon and the Milky Way, though it wasn’t called that then. He reaches out, searching for the phantom presence of Nicky at his side.

Joe thinks back, every intention of warming himself with the memory of being out under these stars with Nicky in their back garden in Malta. His mind, though, conjures a very different memory.

There was a time, he knows, that he didn’t even know Nicky’s name. There was a time when he hated the white man at the end of his blade. Rarely does he think on it, though, because oh how his heart has changed. He cannot fully remember the feeling of rage when his enemy rose as he did and the memories are, in a way, tainted for that. But there is one he cannot shake, one he can remember perfectly, and it is this that his mind turns to as he stares up at the stars.

In those days, they had almost always risen together, or at the very least, within seconds of each other. Neither had time to linger over the body of their foe as they died and lived in ever-constant cycles. But the last time, the last time Joe cut down the white man who came on a ship to invade the Holy City that was not rightfully his, the last time he had not risen so quickly. Joe, still Yusuf then (and he craves Nicky’s voice whispering that in his ear now as he sprawls in the sand with endless nowhere around him), had risen from the stab to his heart to see his opponent still prone on the ground beside him.

It had been dark like this, and cold, and the desert stretched for miles. Yusuf had picked himself up and looked at his enemy, meaning to be proud of the disembowelment and what appeared to be the final death the invader would suffer. But clawing up his throat, confusing then and familiar now, was only dread and fear. Without this man, he had realized, he was alone. And he had not wanted to face what might be forever alone.

His scimitar had fallen not far from his body. It had been still wet with the blood of the invader ( _the_ _man_ ) he had slayed. Yusuf had wiped the blade on his own tunic and felt disgust suddenly. This had not been what he had set out to do. He had never thought himself a killer and he had never wanted to take up arms. Duty bound, he had fought for the safety of the Holy Lands, to protect the lives of people who deserved to live in peace, but he had not relished it as some others had. The first time he had cut this man down, he had not been proud. But every time after he had been driven by rage, by a bitter feeling of unfairness because how dare this invader be granted ( _cursed?_ ) the same deathlessness as he, and it pushed him to brutalize this man over and over again. Seeing the man though, like this, his insides spilled out over the barren desert, eyes open and staring at nothing, he had felt only disgust at what he’d done. He had knelt, then, and looked up at these same stars, and he had prayed.

When the man had gasped awake, it had finally felt like a gift, this eternal life that he had been given. Yusuf had turned to him, had seen his eyes close and open and watched him search for his sword in the sand. Joe doesn’t remember what he had said to get his attention, because the words, for once, are not important. He remembers, though, that the man had looked at him and had stopped. Whatever he had seen in Yusuf’s face had made him stop. (To this day, Nicky has never told Joe what he saw. It is the one secret Joe allows him to keep, because he has never told Nicky the words he was biting back that night.)

Yusuf had held up his hands first, then slowly reached for his scimitar. The man had started to reach for his own sword but then Yusuf had simply held it. And when the man had sat up fully, Yusuf had offered him the blade.  _ No more, _ he had wanted to say,  _ no more fighting, no more killing. I will not be able to live with myself if I run you through again and I do not want to be alone.  _ (The words forever stuck in his throat,  _ I am sorry  _ and _ I am sorry  _ and  _ I am sorry. _ Enough to make right every blow he had dealt the man.) He had known the man would not understand though, so he just offered his blade. The man had understood that. He had raised his own sword and for one horrible moment Yusuf had expected to meet the wrong end of it again. But the man had held it out to Yusuf.

“Nicolò,” the man had said, the first time Yusuf would ever hear the call of his heart. Yusuf had taken the sword from the man who had invaded a land that was not his to take.

“Yusuf,” he had replied. And the man,  _ Nicolò _ , had taken the scimitar from the calloused hands of the merchant who had never wanted to wield it.

Hands empty, heart echoing in his chest where it beats without its twin, Joe falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Andy arranges for their immediate transport back to the compound. They can’t risk flying directly over, but they will land as close as Andy deems safe and go back in on foot. They each have a sat phone and GPS. Their drop point will set them at the opposite side of the compound from where they came in since it offers a clearer view, so they can see if anyone else has come for the bodies before they draw near. It places them in direct line of sight from the compound, too, but Nicky isn’t worried about that. However many come, if any come, he will cut down every one to find Joe.

“You have 24 hours, then I’m sending transportation to your coordinates and you are coming back. With or without,” she says. Nicky doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to outright disobey her, not in front of everybody, but he needs whatever time it takes. He will not leave Joe again.

“Nicky,” Andy says. She grabs his chin and forces his eyes to her own. “You are coming back. 24 hours, then you are coming back. That’s an  _ order _ .” It’s a plea. Because Andy cannot lose one of them, not again, not when she can control it. Nicky can see in her eyes that it’s a plea, not an order.

“No,” he says. Andy makes a frustrated sound.

“24 hours, Nicky, and not a minute longer,” she shouts. “This is not a negotiation.”

“I will take as long as I need to find him,” Nicky says calmly. “You can send your transport but I will not be on it  _ without _ .” Quynh steps between them before Andy can speak again.

“Andromache, you know we are capable,” she says gently. “We can call you when we are ready. We’ll stay together.”

“No, it’s not safe. 24 hours then you’ll meet us at the next safe house. We can figure out our next steps then,” Andy says.

“I don’t have time to argue,” Nicky says. “I am leaving now and I will return when I have Joe again. However long it takes.” And when he remembers this, he will be ashamed of his next words, but he’s so mean when he’s cold. “I will not leave him lost like you left Quynh.” Andy looks like she’s been slapped and Nicky wonders if he’s gone too far, if something between them has been fractured and will never heal right. But then her face hardens and she nods once.

Because Andy loves them, however little she says it. She loves them and she knows what it is to have lost the other half of her soul. She may hate him a little, right now, for striking where it hurts the most, but she holds nothing against him. Because he is hurting, because he is bleeding from a wound none of them can see, because his soul will not heal even if his body does, and she knows all too well what that is like. She is worried and she is scared and she is too close to losing Quynh again after they only just got her back, but she understands.

“As soon as you find him,” she says, “you call as soon as you find him.” Nicky and Quynh both nod and Andy finally holds out the keys to the car and the coordinates to the helicopter.

Nicky takes them and goes out, leaving Quynh and Andy to their own goodbye. Booker and Nile have the sense to follow him.

“Come back,” Nile says softly as Nicky opens the car door. He looks over at her, framed in the afternoon sunlight. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, but one hand clutches the sleeve of Booker’s shirt.

“I will,” Nicky says, “I promise. We all will.” Booker reaches up to touch Nile’s hand. His gaze is steady as he meets Nicky’s eye. He trusts Nicky, trusts he’ll find Joe, and he’ll hold Andy off as long as it takes. Nicky nods slightly in acknowledgement. Quynh steps out and comes around to the passenger side of the car.

Nile, Booker, and Andy stand in the driveway, still there every time Nicky glances in the mirror, until the car turns a corner. Quynh reaches over and squeezes his shoulder.

They don’t speak for the entire journey. Nicky white-knuckles his way to the pick-up location and Quynh doesn’t attempt to calm him. When he bows his head in the helicopter she leaves him to his thoughts (prayers? Can he call them prayers when it has been so long since he renounced the God who told him to invade land that did not belong to him?). She never stops touching him, though. A hand on his shoulder, his leg, the back of his head, grounding him and forcing him to ignore the empty beating of his heart without the chorus of Joe’s beside it. As the dark falls and they approach the drop point, he catches her hand and kisses the back. She smiles -- a small, sad thing -- and squeezes his hand.

It’s still dark when they come in view of the compound. Quynh had urged caution when they touched down and it’s fortunate Nicky listened to her. Whoever has arrived is swarming, carrying bodies from the buildings and into trucks to be carted away and buried. Fires are set in drums, and the acrid smoke drifting up smells of burning blood and plastic. They are moving quickly, quietly frantic, but controlled. Nicky and Quynh get as close as they dare. Nicky, feeling reckless and invincible and thrumming with Joe’s presence, has an urge to put a hand on his sword, rush in without a single thought. But like she can read it in every line of his body, Quynh places a hand on his chest.  _ Wait _ , her eyes say,  _ wait until we know whose side they’re on _ . It doesn’t matter to Nicky now, whether these are friends or enemies, but he knows it will matter later. He readies his rifle instead. Together they watch and every second feels like too long.

“There is the truck they are using for the bodies,” she says under her breath, “then two more vehicles. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they seem angry.”

“Probably not friends of ours, then,” Nicky murmurs. And that is enough for him. He shifts until he has his rifle properly trained on them.

The first two sentries go down without anyone noticing. Beside him, Quynh pulls out her daggers and creeps forward, ready to pounce. The third guard raises the alarm. There is frantic shouting and running, but Nicky manages to hit two more in the chaos. They’re spotted then, and Quynh flies forward. Nicky is right behind her, leaving his rifle in the sand and unsheathing his sword. There is something deeply visceral about cutting someone down with a sword. Being close enough to see the face of the enemy, feel their skin shift and bones break. He plunges his sword deep into a man’s side and blood flows warm and fast over his blade. He does not pause as he spins out to cut another’s throat.

Quynh is a blur beside him, her dark hair braided and whipping around her shoulders like a snake. She stays on his defense, cleaning up behind him, moving out of the way of his swing rather than expecting him to pull at the last minute. She has always had an affinity for throwing knives, and the range she can get on the modern versions is incredible. Nicky knows she has a set on her, but she doesn’t pull them out. She lets him reach each man first, like she knows he needs to see the light leave their eyes one by one. She covers his blind spots, dances in the way of his unguarded side, takes bullets that might’ve been fatal so his advance is never slowed. But she never steps in front of him.

It is over faster than Nicky expects. However many came to finish clearing the compound, it was not nearly as many as they fought before. There is still a simmering rage under Nicky’s skin, that coldness lingering despite the ever-stronger call of Joe’s pulse. He sheathes his sword, though, and moves toward the main receiving bay. The place he last saw Joe. ( _ Joe’s body. _ )

There is a moment as he stands outside.

“If I am wrong,” he starts. Quynh places a hand on his arm.

“You aren’t,” she says. “You know.” Her hand moves to his chest, over his heart. “I can go check the bodies on the truck.” Nicky nods. He knows, but he still fears, and if he is wrong he would like to see it alone first. Quynh can comfort him later, but some things are too intimate to have witnesses. She leaves him and Nicky goes into the room.

Already quite a few bodies have been taken away. Joe was on the far end of the room. They hadn’t given him a chance to look for long, but he can still remember those first few seconds when he noticed Joe hadn’t risen. Even from the door, Nicky can tell the body isn’t there, but he moves closer anyway. He scrutinizes the faces he passes. (He is sick with the thought that Joe might have been conscious, might have tried to follow.) He does not recognize the face he knows better than his own and there is only a rusty stain of dried blood where Joe’s body used to be. He is not in the room.

“He’s not on the trucks,” Quynh announces from the doorway. Nicky turns.

“He’s not in here,” he says. “He’s gotten himself out.” His body is thrumming and he’s sure again. Quynh nods.

“Where would he have gone?” she asks.


	6. Chapter 6

The rumbling of trucks wakes Joe. It’s not yet morning. His stolen watch reads 12:07 AM. He had barely slept for an hour. He drags himself up and listens more carefully. The trucks are coming closer, coming from his direction. He looks around frantically, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s hidden for now, behind a dune, but they’re approaching quickly. His body feels so heavy, but he pushes to his feet. He has borne far worse in his many hundred years.

He struggles his way off course, blindly rushing out of the track of the oncoming cars, but it’s impossible to tell how many there are and he’ll never be faster. He’s not sure who he hopes is driving, whether they’ve been sent by their employer or their enemies. If the employer, he may have a chance to explain. If the enemy… Joe grasps his gun. Headlights illuminate the dark and there are voices shouting suddenly.

A vehicle pulls up next to him and he turns. The man driving says something and it takes a moment for Joe to remember the modern dialect he’s speaking.

“Get in,” the man is saying and he’s not holding a weapon, not looking anything but vaguely concerned as Joe just stands there. They think he’s one of them.

He has two options. He can take them out now and make off with the vehicle. (He knows they will likely raise an alarm the moment he pulls a weapon, and the other cars have driven ahead but not far enough that they wouldn’t be on him in seconds. He fiercely wants to take that option because this rotting _wrongness_ deep in his gut that’s festered since he woke alone needs some outlet, but he also knows he doesn’t have the energy or equipment to take them all on by himself.) Or...

Joe gets in.

The blood still matted in his hair and beard have his enemies ( _comrades?_ ) concerned. They think he’s barely escaped with his life and he lets them believe that. He nods along as they promise to take him to their closest base, that he can rest now and they’ll wake him when they arrive. They ask who attacked the compound and Joe pretends he didn’t get a look.

“I tried to leave when they started shooting,” he lies. “One might have seen me, but I lay on the ground and played dead when they came near.” It’s an easy enough story to buy and his comrades ( _enemies_ ) do.

He pretends to trust the men he’s with, but he refuses to let his guard down. The compound they’d raided was a stop-over point. Supplies and communications, a place to refuel vehicles, replenish water and food, and connect to the final destination with the cargo ( _the weapons, the drugs, the_ **_other_ ** _that had brought them here in the first place_ ). It was supposed to be a quiet take-down. Infiltrate and clear the compound before the next shipment arrived. Their timing had been off. The men around him are worried about who’s found them and are clearing out the compound completely. When ( _if_ ) Nicky arrives there will be nothing left to trace. But Joe still has the satellite GPS and, if anything, someone must have a sat phone. He just needs time to make one call.

Joe has absolutely no intention of falling asleep, but his body is still recovering. Between one breath and the next he’s out. He can sleep soundly, often does, but never without Nicky. Nicky is the light sleeper of the two of them, always has been. Assured that Nicky will wake at the slightest movement, Joe can usually let himself relax enough to fall into a deep sleep. Without Nicky, he’s too anxious to sleep soundly. It’s a surprise, then, when the dreams come.

He dreams of Nicky. It’s nothing new, even with the man beside him he dreams of Nicky. And at first he thinks it’s a memory, the flashes of Nicky — vicious and righteous and gorgeous with his sword — taking out his enemies with that same single-minded focus he has behind his scope. But then he sees Quynh, her own tac vest decked out in modern weapons, spinning beside him. And then it shifts: Booker, Nile, and Andy tense and silent in a car. He catches a glimpse of Nicky’s face, alight with determination and bloodthirsty vengeance ( _absurdly beautiful_ ), before startling awake.

He recognizes the compound. Of course he does, he spent the better part of a day learning its layout as he searched for supplies. And if Nicky and Quynh are there without Andy, Nile, and Booker then this is no memory. He has no idea why the dreams are back, another question for later, but Nicky came for him. Nicky came back for him. ( _Of course Nicky came for him, of course Nicky knew he wasn’t gone._ ) And Nicky won’t give up without a fight.

The men in the car don’t seem concerned with his dreaming. They speak amongst themselves. No one is paying attention to him. Wherever they’re going, they’ll be there soon, he hears, and wherever they’re going Joe knows he is going to lose whatever luck he’s had thus far. Someone will know he’s not one of them and as soon as they cut him open, it’s all over. (Whether because he won’t wake again, or because they’ll find out. He doesn’t dwell on either option.) While their eyes are turned away, Joe palms the knife Quynh left behind. It’s comfortable in his hand, like he can still feel her handprint on it. She’ll be proud to see it used for this.

He slices the neck of the man next to him and lunges forward for the man in the passenger’s seat before the blood even reaches his collar. The driver has barely a moment to look before Joe is on him as well. It’s over in less than a minute. The sun breaks over the horizon and Joe levers the body in the passenger’s seat out of the car to make room for himself. The driver’s foot is still on the gas and it takes some maneuvering but Joe manages to slow the car to a stop. There’s nothing around for miles, but given the way they were talking, their base can’t be far. He doesn’t know if they’re going to be expected so he works quickly, pulling the bodies from the car and patting them down. His luck is already waning; no one in the car has a phone because _of course_ they don't. He feels no remorse leaving them there on the sand, something will find them soon enough. He gets back behind the wheel and sets the GPS on the dashboard, turning the car back toward the compound. Toward Nicky.


	7. Chapter 7

Nicky doesn’t have to guess where Joe went. Like he knows himself, he knows Joe’s patterns. He would have planned to leave the way they came in, would’ve planned to get himself past the first dune to conceal himself from the compound before he even considered resting. He would’ve aimed to get back to their first drop point. They had passed over a village on their way in, he would set himself in that direction to start. Quynh doesn’t question any of this, only begins to search the bodies for keys to the cars. The sky starts to go light gray and the stars begin winking out.

He leaves her to it and moves through the compound, making sure there’s no further threats. There’s no bodies in any of the other rooms and Nicky guesses that half the men already returned to their base with the shipment that had come in. He sweeps the sleeping quarters and finds the mess hall in the next building over, only half cleared out. The team that came must’ve only been focused on the shipment because there’s still water and some food. He collects what he can carry and brings it back to Quynh. They eat in silence, agreed without saying that the food in their backpacks will need to be saved for when they’ve left this place.

“You know we need to sleep,” she says. Nicky’s jaw tightens without thought. She is right, and he knows it, but it’s been two nights now without Joe and that’s two too many.

“I saw a room with cots,” he grits out. Quynh squeezes his shoulder.

“I’ll let you take first watch, if you want,” she says, attempting to smile. He can’t return it, only nods. “Did you leave your rifle?” She looks over her shoulder.

“I can use what they did,” Nicky says, fully unwilling to take even a single step in the wrong direction. Quynh nods and knows better than to comment. It will grate on Nicky’s nerves to use someone else’s rifle, but he can barely bring himself to wait out the day before leaving.

Quynh sleeps until midmorning. When she comes to relieve him, Nicky is surprised how stiff he is. The cool relaxation he can usually tap into while he keeps watch evades him. His muscles are taut and he doubts he’ll be able to sleep again. Still, he hands off the gun to her and goes down to the cots. He uses the one that’s still warm, Quynh’s scent comforting even if it’s a poor substitute for Joe’s.

Aside from those early days when they dreamed of Andy and Quynh, and later Booker and Nile, Nicky rarely dreams. Or, at least, he doesn’t remember his dreams the few times he sleeps deeply enough to dream. He can’t remember the last time he slept heavily, though. Possibly, he thinks, just before Booker came back when he and Joe were spending some time in Iceland. He has absolutely no illusions that he’ll sleep deeply alone, though, so he’s surprised when the dream comes.

He dreams of Joe. This does not surprise him, because who else would fill his thoughts so completely, until the flashes of him become clearer. Joe’s walking, a sturdy duffle bag slung over one shoulder, desert sand shifting under his feet with each step. His clothes are clean, cleaner at least than the last time Nicky saw him, and unfamiliar. He looks down at the GPS in his hand and the cracked screen flickers up, coordinates only half clear. Clutched in the other hand is one of Quynh’s favorite daggers. He glimpses Joe’s face one more time, focused and determined and so full of the same certainty that clogs Nicky’s own throat, before he gasps awake.

“Quynh!” he shouts, bursting from the building. She runs to him.

“What is it?” she asks, looking around frantically. Nicky’s already got his own GPS out, trying desperately to remember the numbers he saw.

“Did you dream?” he asks. Quynh hesitates. Nicky looks up. “You saw him.”

“I thought it was just a regular dream, my subconscious projecting images of him. I didn’t want to say anything,” she says quietly. “You know we don’t dream like that after we’ve found each other. ” Nicky shakes his head.

“We also don’t take so long to wake back up,” Nicky says. “You know that was no regular dream. What did you see?”

“Nicky why-” Quynh starts.

“What did you see?” Nicky demands.

“A car,” Quynh says, “like those. Three other men. Joe was sleeping.” Nicky shakes his head and a smile starts to grow on his face.

“He’s not anymore,” he says. He turns toward the fence Joe left through, but Quynh lays a hand on his arm.

“Call Andy,” she orders. Before the words are even out of her mouth, Nicky’s sat phone rings.

“Andy,” he says.

“Booker’s got coordinates,” Andy says without preamble. It’s the nearest to an apology he’s going to get, but something in Nicky settles at hearing it. She relays the coordinates Booker saw more clearly in his dream “We’ll meet you in Mongolia.  _ Do not do anything stupid _ .” And for all that Nicky was prepared to disobey her less than a day ago, he knows he needs to be smart about this.

“I won’t,” he promises.

“Bring him home,” Andy returns and hangs up.

There’s no chance of Nicky falling back to sleep now. He has no idea how far away Joe is, the dreams have always been, at best, shaky on timelines, but he won’t miss his coming back. It feels like eons since he’s seen him and now that he’s sure Joe is on his way, he’s  _ sure _ it won’t be long now, every second apart tears into him like hooks embedded in his skin. He can’t stay still so he prepares. Quynh didn’t have luck finding car keys before they both slept, but Nicky picks a car at random and begins loading it. He finds extra gas cans and siphons what he can from the other vehicles. Quynh goes back to patting down bodies as he carries more water and food to their car. As the day warms to near stifling, Quynh finally holds up a set of keys triumphantly.

The car starts on the first try.

And suddenly Nicky feels the tears. For the first time since he saw Joe on that floor, he cries. Quynh sweeps his hair away from his forehead and drops a kiss on the top of his head. Finally, Nicky gives into the release he denied himself before. The time to process even if they all know, now, that there’s nothing to grieve. He wrings himself out, his face in his hands, as relief finally washes over him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... America went insane yesterday... here's the final chapter a day early because I need the validation of my peers to help me feel better.

Joe’s still frustratingly far when the car gives its last. He’s surprised he made it as far as he did, though. Seven hours they’d been driving after he’d been picked up, which means at least seven hours from wherever their base is. They must have stopped to refuel at some point when Joe was sleeping, the gas can he finds is bone dry, but it wasn’t recent enough to matter. It’s a miracle the car even made it the two hours he managed.

It’s still early, the heat not yet settled, but there’s an itching between his shoulder blades. The base is nearby, and if someone was waiting on them it won’t be long before they drive out to search. He’s not sure how far he’ll get on foot and he’s still so exhausted. Without Nicky his body lags and weighs him down, everything so very heavy. Still he pushes on.

He conserves his water, not sure how long he’ll be out here and unwilling to consider stopping to rest. Not now that he knows they’re coming. Any distance he can cut from their journey will be enough, as long as he has Nicky in his arms at the end of it. It is a trudging task and he knows he’s moving too fast as his legs start to burn before his skin does. He can’t bring himself to slow down, though.

His thoughts swirl around the questions he’s put off. Now, with nothing stretching ahead of him but sand and sunlight, he ponders them. His body was done, gone cold and stiff, yet he woke back up. And more than that, something reset. Something that let him dream of them and, he can only guess, let them dream of him. If it happened to him, will it happen to Nicky, too? Will he have to see his love truly lifeless one day, suffer the way Nicky suffered over his body? The thought is too terrible to bear. But there are so many new things happening suddenly. Andy’s slide into mortality, then back out. Was this the same, to a greater scale? Andy didn’t die before her immortality returned, but would they have dreamt of her if she had?

The thoughts chase themselves in circles through his head and he has no answers. They do not let him walk in peace, though, and he’s somewhat grateful. His mind buzzes too loudly for him to consider needing a rest, and so he pushes on.

Time passes, and it does not. The sun climbs higher in the sky, blisteringly hot as it beats down on him. He strips some of the layers he’d worn for the night and leaves a trail of clothes across the sand. His view ahead is unchanging. He can only tell he’s made progress when the car he left behind shrinks into the horizon line. Each step feels like a chore, but his body is thrumming with  _ Nicky, Nicky, Nicky _ and he can almost feel him coming closer.

He finishes his first bottle of water just before the dizziness threatens to take him down.

He thinks he might have passed out at some point. The thought scares him only because he might not have woken up. Conserving his water is helping nothing, so the next bottle he breaks open and empties in the span of a few breaths. The sun seems to have moved, but he hasn’t looked at the watch for a long time. He can’t say if or when he lost consciousness. The car is not even a speck behind him anymore, which fills him with some relief, but now he has no gauge on how far he’s come. All he has is the knowledge that Nicky is coming too.

He checks his coordinates again, making sure he’s walking straight away from the car. If one of them had seen the coordinates in the dream, if they did sleep, did dream, they will know where to start. And his sick breadcrumb trail will show them his path even if they somehow miss each other. He doesn’t think he’ll miss them, though. He knows Nicky like he knows himself, knows how he thinks. Nicky would choose the most direct route to Joe, and he would know Joe would walk in a single direction straight from his starting point.

He runs out of water by midafternoon. There’s nothing to be done for it. He’s in the hottest part of the day and the sun won’t set for hours. The food he managed to pack may help a little, but he knows if he keeps moving he will faint again. Even as he thinks about sitting down to rest, every muscle in his body rebels and his legs just keep moving. Time passes, and it does not.

He loses minutes, hours, not sure if he’s still moving half the time. The sun sets and he feels a swell of something wonderful in his chest as the colors bleed across the massive expanse of the horizon. A crashing, cresting tidal wave of relief washes over him and for the first time in the day he stops consciously. It’s beautiful. His heart pounds heavily in his chest, more than just the irregular rhythm of his body shutting down. It is beating in time with another, as it should, and he knows Nicky is closer than ever. He breaks before he even realizes.

Joe’s sobs are dry and ragged. His body can’t produce tears, but he shakes with the emotion. For the first time since he woke up, he lets himself  _ feel _ . The exhaustion in his bones, the shock of waking in a body that had shut down seemingly for good, the hope at having the people he loves on their way to him. Joe wrings himself out, his face turned toward the setting sun, taking in every burst of color as it shifts and smudges through the sky. He will never forget this sight, he thinks, and he will paint it for Nicky when he is home so they can share it.

The sky is a deep, bruised purple when he hears it. The stars are just starting to come together and Joe thinks he might be imagining it at first. But it’s getting louder, coming closer, and a light is growing in the distance. A car is approaching. The same sort of car that picked him up last night. It’s coming from the direction of the compound, coming straight at him. Even though he knows, with complete certainty, who is in that car, his body still seizes up with instinct. He stops, holds his ground, and the headlights splash over him.

The car speeds up and Joe shifts his stance. In case he’s wrong, in case this is some cruel trick of the god he has long since forgotten. He’s gearing up for a fight, reaching for the sword that isn’t there, but then one of them gets out and a different instinct entirely takes over. Because Joe knows that figure, he knows the steps they take, he knows every ragged breath coming from their lungs because that body is more his own than the one he’s inhabiting. And he’s moving before he can even think, moving without even feeling the ache in his legs, the lingering heat of the day in his skin, moving like a rubber band has finally been snapped back somewhere deeper than his soul. They collide and fall.

“Yusuf, Yusuf,  _ Yusuf _ .” A mantra, desperate and broken and so fucking beautiful he never wants to hear another sound again. And he answers, every single time.

“ _ Nicolò _ . Nicolò. Nicolò.” Hands push into his hair and then he’s looking at those quicksilver eyes, gleaming with tears that spill down the precious, wonderful face he loves so much.

He surges forward, smearing a kiss along Nicky’s cheek, tasting tears and sweat and grit, and finally catching on his lips. He licks into his mouth and, when he’s had his fill, lets Nicky return the favor. They’re breathless and panting when they part. Nicky lets his head fall against Joe’s, their foreheads touching. His hands flutter down from Joe’s hair, skating down his neck, over his shoulders, fumbling at his chest then pushing to get under his shirt. Joe catches his wrists, gentles them back up to his own face.

“I’m here,” he promises, in a language only they know. “I’m here, I’m okay. I’m alive.”

“You were gone,” Nicky says. The last time Joe heard his voice like this was when he realized what side of the war he had been on when he first crossed the sea to Jerusalem. It pierced his heart then, and it pierces his heart now. And Joe kisses him again because there’s nothing else he can do, nothing else he  _ wants _ to do, nothing else that will right this wrong they've been through.

“I’m here. I’m here.”  _ I’m here. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, part 2 is finished and after I read it about 7 more times to make sure I'm not missing any mistakes I hope to have it up in the next week or so. Gosh it's been a while since I wrote something this long, so thank you all for coming along on this little brain-dump with me!


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